Discovering the Poor's Wealth

Read my latest article in the Williamson County Sun entitled, "Discovering the Poor's Wealth"

On a crisp fall morning in Georgetown, children run and play among the pumpkins spread across the lawn of the McKinney Ministry Center at First United Methodist Church, oblivious to the talk of revolution and disruption taking place inside the building.  This revolution is not what you think.  It doesn’t involve politics or overturn of a government although eventually politics and government come into play.  This revolution relates more to the radical teachings of Jesus, who turned the world upside down by instructing us that the last shall be first and the first shall be last and commanding us, among other things, to love our neighbor as ourselves.  And on this Sunday in Georgetown, there is talk of disruption in the way in which in which we deal with the issue of poverty and the poor.

Dr. Ron Swain serves as President of The Georgetown Ministerial Alliance.  He is also Director of Transformative Missions Ministries at FUMC Georgetown.  Dr. Swain explains that Transformative Missions is a ministry in which we become more Christ-like by building loving and trusting relationships with our neighbors as a result of sharing God’s love and grace through various ministries.  A community development advocate, Dr. Swain hopes to create a high quality of life for all people, not just members of the church congregation. 

In August 2015, Dr. Swain heard a man named Larry M. James speak at the Texas Christian Community Development Conference.  Mr. James has been the CEO of CitySquare in Dallas since 1994.  CitySquare is a faith-based human and community development corporation that serves several inner-city neighborhoods in Dallas as well as San Antonio, Austin, Fort Worth and Houston.   

 Intrigued by his presentation, Dr. Swain also listened to one of Mr. James’s sermons posted on YouTube then subsequently read his book The Wealth of the Poor.  Dr. Swain arranged to tour the CitySquare facilities in Dallas then invited Mr. James to speak to the congregation at FUMC Georgetown regarding his work at CitySquare.  James’s presentation and book outline the organizational success story of CitySquare.  He advocates for a “paradigm shift” in how we think about and perform mission ministry by targeting four areas:   housing, hunger relief, health and the creation of hope through a food pantry, job training, medical, legal and other services. 

The first step in tackling poverty is to admit there is a problem.  In Georgetown, approximately 10.2% of the population lives below the poverty line.  Of this amount around 18% are ages 12-17 and about 12% are age 65+.  The U.S. Census Bureau Weighted Average Poverty Threshold for 2012 defines poverty as a four-person family of two adults and two children with an annual cash income below $23,283 or a single parent family with three children with an annual income below $23,364.

James’s book points out that there is a division among those who believe “poverty is a result in the failure to take personal responsibility and those who believe government is the solution to the problem.”  James suggests that to bridge this gap we must first “discover the wealth of ‘the poor.’”  The initial step in this discovery process is to not look at the poor as a problem, project or a program, but to see them as peers, partners and most importantly, as our neighbors.  When we work in conjunction with our neighbors, it affects how we engage the poor, restores dignity and helps us to see “the wealth of human capital.”  A key component to discovering their wealth is to encourage those being served to consider what gifts they have to share and to work as volunteers themselves.  James states in his book that “the people with the problem are also the people closest to the problem and therefore are the people who should be consulted first about any solutions.”

This radical community development model that James espouses focuses on the value of people regardless of their economic status.  CitySquare wants to bring systemic change that will alleviate the “perpetual need for charitable assistance.”  They hope to accomplish this in three ways:  first address the immediate charitable needs of its neighbors.  Once they are back on their feet, discover what these individuals have to contribute to the community.  The final puzzle piece is tackling and challenging public policy so that there is more equity and justice for people with little or no voice.

From reading James’s book Dr. Swain is reminded that “each of God’s beloved children are persons of worth and value and deserve love and respect.”  What Dr. Swain likes about the CitySquare model is that it is holistic, addressing homelessness, health, hunger and giving people hope.  Likewise, Dr. Swain wants to see a shift from charity and handouts to more development and empowerment for people to help themselves.  Dr. Swain agrees that we should “never do for people what they can do for themselves,” a common aphorism among James and other authors, such as Robert D. Lupton, who have written on this subject.

While Mr. James indicates that the biggest return on investment of his time is not the church but government agencies, businesses and foundations, Dr. Swain’s vision includes the church and various non-profits in Georgetown working together.  “Based on our history and heritage of compassion and justice, I expect that FUMC Georgetown will have a lead role in creating the beloved community, “ asserts Dr. Swain.  “As our city grows with more people living and working here, services and programs will be needed to meet emergencies, but also to empower our neighbors toward self-sufficiency and sustainability.” 

How this is best accomplished has yet to be determined.  The various non-profit agencies located in Georgetown are independent of each other but sometimes work together to resolve issues.  Organizations like the Georgetown Community Resource Center were created to coordinate social services by housing multiple non-profit organizations under one roof.  Dr. Swain agrees that the concept of an umbrella agency is worthy of further exploration because a great deal of cooperation and collaboration are needed.  But as James jokingly counsels, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing poorly.  Don’t let a quest for excellence kill the good you can do.  Just start.  It’s not going to be perfect.”

Sometimes the biggest obstacle is fear from the community.  James concedes that classism, racism and feelings of superiority will never be eliminated.  But the community can work on extinguishing the fear by demonstrating the good that will come from the efforts.  “We’ve never had a negative experience by improving the living conditions of people.  Once they’re given the resources and opportunities to solve their own problems, they will perform far beyond any of our fears.”  There will always be people who disagree with the work being done but James stresses that doesn’t mean the people instigating the change have to be uncivil or unkind.  “We have to work harder and longer.  We have to prove ourselves but let’s don’t fool ourselves about how much progress we’ve made because people are still going to protect their asset,” he admonishes.  “We have to figure out just how much courage we have at these times.”

It's a Lovely Ride

My Soundtrack:  The Secret of Life by James Taylor
https://www.youtube.com/secretoflife

I haven't written my blog for awhile but I'm starting to see all the end-of-year retrospectives and resolutions so I thought I would join in and give a parting shot to 2016.  

For as long as I can remember, I've been running away and making excuses.  I never wanted to deal with problems.  I tried to ignore them and hoped they would go away.  Nor would I ever step up to the plate and take responsibility for much of anything.  I could always blame something or someone else for my circumstances.  And I never wanted to put myself out there for fear of failure.  That horrible, small voice in the back of my head constantly tells me I'm not talented or smart enough. 

Like everyone else in the world, I have dreams.  I always had the usual dreams of a husband, 3.2 kids, house and dog but my ultimate aspirations always involved travel and writing.  When I was in my 20's I confided in a friend about wanting to move and live in Australia.  I tried to talk her into going with me because I was too afraid to go alone.  Of course, that was my dream and not hers, so she wanted no part of it.  I never made it to Australia.

I've always been better at the written word as opposed to the spoken word.  The south is an incubator  for many raconteurs.  Both fiction and non-fiction stories fill the recesses of my brain.  My intent is always to eventually put them on paper.    Once again the demons show up.  I'm too busy working at my real job to earn money to pay my bills. No one wants to read anything I write. I can't get anything published.  The excuses go on and on.  

I was talking to someone on the phone last night when this person screamed at me, "Are we all living in denial?"  Maybe.  Maybe that's why I've been binge-watching Gilmore Girls.  Reality, problems and our inner demons are sometimes hard to face.  The funny thing about trying to run from problems is that I soon discover they are just hiding in the shadows, waiting to rear their ugly heads at the most inopportune moments.  And those voices in my head telling me I'm not good enough never really go away.  

2016 has brought me the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I abruptly quit a good job albeit one I didn't love and soon discovered I am much happier doing contract work.  Through this blog, I discovered I am a decent writer and can actually get paid for it. I've also learned that I can't ignore unpleasant family issues in the hopes they will go away.  It takes planning, patience and my presence. There's no room for denial.  I've also seen the best and the worst in people this year but I choose to believe the good far outweighs the bad no matter how hard it is to see sometimes.  Finally, I'm learning to turn down the volume to those inner demons and to step out on a limb.

As I leave Stars Hollow and re-enter the real world, I peer into the rear view mirror of 2016 with mixed emotions.  I refuse to join in with the people who are ready to give the middle finger to the year and move on to 2017.  I've learned a lot about myself in 2016, the most important being that the secret of life is just enjoying the ride.

You Don't Know What You've Got 'Til It's Gone

My Soundtrack:  Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell
https://www.bigyellowtaxi

This day will go down in infamy.  At least in my world.  I didn't believe in curses but I do now.  

The day starts innocuously enough.  Just a regular Saturday of errand running, laundry and catching up on other chores that fall by the wayside during the week.  As with all other Saturdays at my house, I clean out the frig, dumping any leftovers still lurking inside.

My husband isn't a leftover eater.  Or a microwave heater-upper for that matter.  Once I went out of town and left a refrigerator full of food for him to warm up or cook while I was gone.  Big mistake.  I arrived home two weeks later and found the food still in the frig untouched.  

"Why didn't you eat any of this food?" I inquired irritated.  

"If I open a container and can't figure out what it is, I'm sure not going to put it in my mouth!"

"Of course not, after it's grown legs, arms and morphed into a science experiment," I retort.

So on this particular Saturday, like many Saturdays before, I clean out the refrigerator of any leftovers.  But today, unlike previous days, I decide to dump everything into the garbage disposal instead of the garbage can.  Another mistake on my part.  

As I'm running the water and the disposal my mind, as it often does, drifts off into a reverie when I look down and realize nothing is going down the drain.  Not only is it not going down, it is gurgling back up and forming the most gosh-awful cesspool in my sink.   It mocks me by swirling in the sink growing larger by the minute.  I quickly turn off the water and the disposal.  At this moment the fight or flight response kicks in.

I nonchalantly walk out the door to my car and mention in passing to my husband, "Hey, the sink is stopped up.  Can you plunge it?"  "Sure," he unwittingly replies, "No problem."  I then get the hell out of Dodge.

When I return several hours later, I discover my husband devoured up to his waist by the kitchen cabinet, trying his best to undo my mess.  From the bowels of the cabinet he asks incredulously, "What in the world did you put down the disposal?"  "Just a few leftovers," I reply casually.  As he pulls his head out from under the cabinet to look me in the eye, I can tell that he isn't buying my story.  I smile sheepishly.  "This is a clog of epic proportions, worthy of more than just a passing, 'oh by the way, the sink is clogged,'" he chastises.  "Really?" I innocently respond trying to continue my deceit.  "It looks like an elephant threw up in the sink.  And you wonder why I don't eat leftovers!"  I can't argue with him there.  At this point, their appeal is lost on me as well.

My husband continues to poke, prod, and churn into the intestines of our plumbing system when he begins pulling out what looks to be an alien appendage.  He must pull for a good 5 minutes until the end of the contraption is extracted from the pipes.  

Covered in sweat and brown liquid regurgitated from our plumbing, hubby asks me to cut on the water and flip the switch to the garbage disposal.  Voila!  It's fixed and it only took 3 hours!  I'm exhausted just from watching.

Sadly, this isn't the end of the cursed day.  No, this is only the beginning.

It hits me at the same moment my husband manages to get out from under the sink.  It's hot in the house.  Yes, it is a warm day in Texas and I am constantly having hot flashes but this is a different heat.  Do I dare mention it to Bob?

"Gosh, it's warm in here."

"You're always hot."

"No, it's definitely hot."

Then the words roll off my tongue and smack Bob right in the gut.  "I think the air conditioner is broken."

Bob looks like a man whose dog just died.  We investigate and discover that, in fact, the air conditioner is not working as the temperature gauge registers 84 degrees.  So after 3 hours of working under the sink, Bob crawls into the 110 degree attic and investigates.  Bless him.  He spends another 2 hours in the attic working and thinks he has the problem resolved.  But by morning it's apparent that his fix was only temporary.

To add salt to the wound, it's a holiday weekend so we make the tough decision to wait until Tuesday to call in the big guns, the real repairmen, in order to avoid exorbitant holiday rates.

Tuesday finally rolls around and while I'm at lunch with my husband, he gets the call.  This is the face of a man who has just been told that we need a completely new air conditioning system.

And as all good curses go, we're told they can't install the new unit for another 2 weeks.  Then the universe decides to join in the torture.  The weather up until this point has been pleasantly mild.  But now the temperature begins to rise.  And rise.  And rise.  Along with the humidity.  Despite having every ceiling fan on in the house along with several portable fans, we are sweltering.  It gets so bad that I resort to getting ready for work in the dark so that the heat from the bathroom light bulbs don't add to our misery.  Did you know that it is virtually impossible to dry and style your hair in stifling heat and humidity?  Trust me on this one.  Imagine my shock when on several mornings I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the office elevators and find that I look like Stevie Wonder dressed me, Alice Cooper did my make-up and Rosanne Rosannadanna fixed my hair. I am, as they say, a "hot mess." Literally. Hot. Mess.

The day arrives for the installation of the new unit.  I want to dance naked throughout the house but fear this would traumatize the repairmen and they won't finish the job so I abstain.  They work all day and at last flip the switch as we hold our breath.  We hear a low hum then feel cool air emanating from the vents.  Success!  We rejoice until it comes time to pay and we fork over enough money for a down-payment on a new house.  But it's worth it because you really don't know what you've got until its gone.  And that includes curses.

Living on the Edge

Read my latest article "Living on the Edge" in the Williamson County Sun!  Click on the link below.

http://www.wilcosun.com

Many retirees are part of a new trend in this country called “unretirement.”  Instead of whiling away their newfound freedom on the golf course or devoting time to other hobbies, these seniors are taking jobs in fields in which they have expertise or with organizations for which they have a passionate interest.  That passion for local Georgetown residents, Scott and Judy Finnell, involves our national parks.  And a fortuitous conversation among friends led to a summer adventure at the Grand Canyon. 

Scott’s and Judy’s love affair with American national parks originated while on an Alaskan cruise where they were introduced to the Passport to Your National Parks program.   This program is a tool to ignite the public’s interest by allowing visitors to the national parks to obtain cancellation stamps within a passport book similar to a traveler’s passport.  It worked on the Finnell’s.  “We want a stamp from every park!” proclaims Scott.  They now make a point of visiting any national park or monument that is close by on their many travels.  But spending only 4 or 5 hours exploring isn’t enough time for the couple to really get to know a park. 

During a conversation at church one Sunday, a friend of the Finnell’s announced he was leaving to spend the summer working at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.  The thought of staying at a national park for an extended period of time and escaping the broiling Texas summer heat was appealing to them.  They jumped on the bandwagon and applied online for jobs at the Grand Canyon Lodge – North Rim through www.coolworks.com, a clearinghouse to “find jobs in great places”. 

The entire process, including a couple of phone interviews, took approximately one week to become hired by Forever Resorts, the company that holds the contract with the North Rim resort.  Judy hired on with the gift shop as a cashier and Scott as the employee shuttle van driver.  However, the couple admonishes, “It’s critical that people recognize that for us, this was an adventure.  For the resort, it’s business and it’s a job.  And they are hiring people to do a job so be sure you get the job you want.  Because if you get a job that you don’t want, it’s not too much fun.”

And don’t expect to get rich.  They were each paid $8.05 an hour.  From each of their paychecks the resort withheld $12.00 a day which covered their lodging in a dormitory and 3 meals a day in the staff cafeteria. 

Upwards of 240 seasonal employees arrive by planes, trains and automobiles.  But the trek isn’t easy – the North Rim is at an elevation of 8500 feet, roughly 75 miles from the nearest town of Fredonia, Arizona and 3 hours from the nearest airport at St. George, Utah.  

The employees’ home-away-from-home consists of a compound of 4 dormitories.  Each dorm room is equipped with its own bathroom and walk-in closet.  The rooms have neither air conditioners nor TV’s.  The only TV’s at the resort are located in the dining hall and the employee pub.   The resort also provides WiFi albeit slow and inadequate for the number of people living there.  It was difficult at best to get online to any social media site or to catch up on news.  Ironically, the remoteness of the resort was appealing to the Finnell’s but the lack of easily accessible electronics and internet left them also feeling isolated.   This isolation was a culture shock for some of the younger employees.  

Being cut off from the world wasn’t as noticeable on the days they were working.  When they had time off, they sometimes felt they were stuck in their own “Groundhog Day” doing the same mundane things over and over such as laundry or visiting the same towns off the mountain.  The happiest people on their days off were the hikers who wanted to hike every trail.  “I’m a runner,” explains Scott, “not a hiker.  I wasn’t living for my days off to go do that.”  During these off hours, Judy often enjoyed sitting on the veranda and gazing at the canyon.  “It was different every day.  I never took it for granted and always appreciated the magnitude.” 

The Finnell’s were expecting the other employees to be similar demographically to themselves but quickly realized they were moving into a “microcosm of the world” that included not only retirees like themselves but also people leaving the corporate world behind, college kids and foreigners, as well as men and women living on the edge who were struggling with alcoholism, drug addiction or indebtedness.  Many of them just needed a second chance.

Scott and Judy were taken aback by the economic imbalance among the employees.  There was a gulf almost as large as the canyon itself between the “haves” and the “have nots”.  Forever Resorts hires a considerable amount of employees who move from resort to resort throughout the year and live paycheck to paycheck, hand to mouth.  A couple of ladies were living in their cars at the resort and only using the dorm facilities for showering.  These cars will continue to be their homes once their tenure at the North Rim is over. 

Some of the Finnell’s favorite interactions were with the young, single employees.  Scott and Judy forged relationships with many of these “kids” - Scott acting as social worker and Judy acting as surrogate parent. 

As their days clicked by, it became increasingly apparent that the resort could make good use of a social worker to assist many of these employees with getting their lives in order.  “It’s not necessarily the resort’s responsibility, but it is in their best interest and to the social good to help these people manage their money and turn into more productive citizens,” proposes Scott. At one point, Scott and Judy had a serious conversation between themselves about why they were there and what they were supposed to be doing to help.  Judy explains, “Scott decided, really, we’re kind of doing mission work.”

Despite the disparity among the employees, they made many new friends.  Dinner time often stretched for a couple of hours or more since the majority of social interaction among the employees happened at this time.  Visiting with the other employees also filled the electronics void.  They chatted about their day, swapped stories of their lives and families, and created lasting bonds.  The Finnell’s even befriended a couple from Granger and laughed that it took temporarily relocating to the Grand Canyon for their paths to cross despite only living 18 miles apart from each other in Texas.

Initially the Finnell’s talked about committing for the entire 5 ½ month season but after a few weeks at the North Rim, they decided they would depart after 3 months.  “This has been the perfect adventure for us.  We loved it every minute.  If we had stayed for 5 months, we would not have loved it.” 

Would they do it again?  “Yes, but not at this point in our lives . . . as long as we have responsibility for elderly parents.  And we’d like our grandchildren to be a little older.” 

Both Scott and Judy think that our country’s national parks are the greatest things about being American.  As Franklin D. Roosevelt once stated, “There is nothing so American as our national parks. . . .The fundamental idea behind the parks is native.  It is, in brief, that the country belongs to the people, that it is in the process of making for the enrichment of the lives of all of us.  The parks stand as the outward symbol of this great human principle.”

Scott agrees.  “The richest people in the world do not have any more access than the poorest to the beauty we have in the parks system.  We’re clearly not in the Rockefeller wealth category, by any means, but I lived at the Grand Canyon for 3 months!  Did he?”

As Scott and Judy reflect on their time at the canyon, the words of Theodore Roosevelt, when he dedicated the canyon as a national monument, resonate with them.  “[K]eep it for your children and your children’s children and for all who come after you, as one of the great sights which every American, if he can travel at all, should see.”

Dairy Rises to the Top With Its Raw Milk

Be sure to check out my first published article in the Williamson County Sun!  Link is below.

http://www.WilliamsonCoSun

My Little Runaway

My Soundtrack:  Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen
https://www.youtube.com/Born_to_Run

I used to love to listen to my friends talk of their children's amazing accomplishments - the sports stars, the straight-A students, the Eagle scouts, the Homecoming Queens, the cheerleaders, the scholarship winners.  I mean, these kids were and are amazing.  Total Type A's.  While I was thrilled that my friends' children were obviously on track to win a Nobel prize or rule the free world, I could only sit there and wonder where I went wrong.

We love our children.  Really, we do.  Our offspring are extremely successful, productive adult citizens of whom we are immensely proud.  But back in the day they were boisterous boys who were apt to shenanigans the likes of which make me break out in a sweat as I sit here typing. Someone once asked what system we used for disciplining our children.  I quipped, "The penal system." Needless to say, my kids weren't invited to their house anymore.

While we were entrenched in those tender teenage years, my husband and I decided we had to get away from the boys every now and then for fear of going stark raving mad.  I think it all started when the manager from one of the local area Targets called to inform us that our son and his friends had been banned from every Target store in the United States.  If you think about it, that's a lot of Target stores. My mother always said "Your children will be worse than you.  It's called karma."  What an understatement. Those challenging moments always brought out my exceptional parental skills - I popped the cork on another bottle of wine and started booking hotel rooms.  

A weekend away without the kids was usually the ticket to unfray our nerves and give us the strength to face the little hellions as they continued their conspiracy against us.  Most people call these "staycations" but my husband and I call it "running away from home."  

We've managed to come out on the other side of parenthood practically unscathed.  We enjoy our adult children and even manage to laugh at some of the things they put us through.  But I know there are others like us who are presently suffering through the adolescent angst.  You may be too embarrassed to admit it out loud, but you know who you are.  We stand in solidarity with you and want to share the top five places in and around Austin to which we've run.  Just in case.  You're welcome.

5.  Hyatt Regency Lost Pines, Bastrop, Texas  http://lostpines.regency.hyatt.com

This is a lovely resort nestled within the Lost Pines Forest in Bastrop.  The property is 405 acres which makes you feel that you have traveled to a distant land when in fact you are only 20 miles from Austin.  There is much to do here including golf, a spa, horseback riding and a multitude of kid activities.  Did I mention kids?  We are taken aback by the thousands of rugrats running amok on the property since this is exactly from whom we are running.   However, the hotel excels at allowing us our "adult time" on the property starting with an adults only pool area.  It's situated near the bar. Imagine that.  Speaking of pool, a lazy river extends from the pool and is great for relaxing while floating and sipping margaritas.  That is until I start getting pummeled by the kids floating en masse on the river.  Defeated, I head to the spa for a massage which helps eliminate my anxiety.

That evening we explore our options for dinner.  Not being familiar with the area, we can't come up with any restaurants off-property.  Wanting to avoid eating with a thousand screaming kids, we choose to dine at Stories, a lovely farm-to-table restaurant located upstairs in the hotel away from the hustle and bustle of the lobby.  The moment you walk into the restaurant, the dark wood and candlelight allow you to relax and unwind.  While not extensive, they have a nice wine selection from which to choose.  We dine on the bone-in ribeye which is cooked to perfection.  

4.  Hyatt Hill Country Resort, San Antonio, Texas http://hillcountry.regency.hyatt.com

This is a sister property to the Hyatt Regency Lost Pines.  It sits on 300 acres in the middle of San Antonio and boasts many of the same amenities as the Lost Pines.  For some reason, though, I didn't feel as overrun by kids at this location, probably because their pool area is larger.  One feature that sets this apart from Lost Pines is that the lazy river actually runs through a bar.  You never have to get out of your float to get a drink.  Just don't be shocked when you see you bar tab at the end of your stay.

3.  The Driskill Hotel, Austin, Texas  http://www.driskillhotel.com/

The Driskill is an elegant hotel in the middle of downtown Austin on Sixth Street which can be a blessing -  you are smack dab in the middle of Austin's entertainment district - and a curse - you are smack dab in the middle of Austin's entertainment district.  Anyone who has been to Sixth Street knows how rowdy it gets around midnight.  And let's face it - we're kinda over the Sixth Street crowd. However, you are within walking distance to many great bars and restaurants in the Warehouse district or Second Street as well as a short pedicab ride to Rainey Street.

Before heading out to dinner, stop at The Driskill Bar for a cocktail and live music.  This is a place to see and be seen.  I want to stay and people watch all night and hate to leave for dinner.

When the night is over, the small but well appointed rooms at The Driskill have comfortable beds with luxurious linens.   It's hard to get out of that comfy bed after a night on the town but knowing the 1886 Cafe & Bakery is waiting downstairs for us makes it easier.  Their coffee is key to peeling back our eyelids after late night antics and their cinnamon rolls are legendary!

2.  All Seasons Downtown Retreat, Fredericksburg, Texas  www.allseasonsfredericksburg.com

This is a relatively new property located just off Main Street so it's walkable to the wonderful shops and restaurants in downtown Fredericksburg.  We stay at the Dream Catcher suite which has a small seating area with a big screen TV, kitchen stocked with juice, milk, cereal and freshly baked coffee cake and a bedroom.  The room is really comfortable and clean.  There are only 6 suites so it's very quiet.  The pool area is lovely and we enjoy cocktails by the pool during a late night swim.  If you're wanting amenities, then this place isn't for you.  However, if you're wanting a quiet weekend away, I would highly recommend this place.

1.  Hotel Saint Cecelia, Austin, Texas  http://hotelsaintcecilia.com/

It's almost impossible to believe that you are in the middle of downtown Austin.  The property is secluded behind walls and the verdant grounds block any sounds of traffic just beyond the walls.  One of the coolest places we've ever stayed, the hotel is named after the patron saint of music and poetry. As we walk into Suite No. 3, our eyes move immediately to the red headboard.  The bed is super comfy and made up with white organic bed linens.  The wainscoting on the walls is painted black which is a nice contrast to the red.  Each room has its own turntable and you can borrow albums from the office.  Our choice - Joni Mitchell.

It's tempting to just take a long nap while Joni serenades us but the pool is calling.  A bright neon Soul sign keeps watch over the pool area as we sip one of their delicious Bloody Mary's.  Dinner choices are plentiful as South Congress is just a couple of blocks away from the property.

The Least of These

 Never criticize a man until you've walked a mile in his moccasins.  American Indian Proverb

Like millions of women in the world, I like to shop but the allure is diminished in the malls and big box stores.  The immensity of it all is overwhelming and impersonal.  And let's face it - there's no customer service any more.  I'm just one person in a mass of humanity who has to be dealt with.  It's so cliche' but I love to shop local - the small establishments where the owners are truly appreciative when you walk in the door because their livelihood depends on you being there.

Despite what my husband thinks of my retail therapy, I'm pretty sure I can blame it on my DNA.  My great grandfather John L. Taylor's and my grandfather William Elkins "Elks" Taylor's lives were devoted to retail.  As a young man in the late 1800's, John worked in various shops throughout the rural hills of Mississippi and even opened his own stores in a couple of small towns.  Travel during this time was by foot or by wagon making it arduous to get anywhere.  It was difficult at best to eek out a living but somehow he managed.

During this post-reconstruction period in Mississippi, the railroad system destroyed during the war was being rebuilt and small towns began popping up around the new railroad stops.  The Columbus and Greenville Railway established a depot in 1889 in Webster County and the nascent town of Eupora began to grow around it.

John eventually settled in Eupora before the turn of the century to partner with Captain Thomas Ford to open Taylor Ford Company.  The Taylor Ford Company eventually dissolved and my great grandfather became affiliated with the prominent Taylor Brothers (no relation) Thomas F. and W.G. Taylor to form Taylor Brothers & Taylor Company.  There, John flourished for the next seventeen years as the President and General Manager while the store gained statewide acclaim.  Their company motto was "You buy from me and I'll buy from you" which drew in the farmers wanting to trade poultry, eggs and excess produce for the dry goods sold in their store.  By this time Eupora had established its reputation as a major trade center of the region.

Around the late 1920's, department stores were all the rage in the big cities.  In a visionary move, John sold his stock in Taylor Brothers & Taylor Company and opened his own department store with his two sons, my grandfather Elks, and J. Paul Taylor, my great uncle.  The name changed a couple of more times and in 1947 it settled on simply "Taylor's".

The department store eventually moved into the location that I'm familiar with on the main street of downtown Eupora.  Just like the well- known city department stores, Taylor's boasted large plate glass windows from which it could display its clothing, shoes and other offerings.

Eventually, my great grandfather passed away and my great uncle pursued a career in academia so the store belonged only to my grandfather.  The highlight of our trips to Eupora involved going to the store to get new shoes and clothes.  In my child's eyes, it was a sartorial heaven.  The store seemed enormous with circular racks of clothing - a perfect hiding place during a game of hide and seek.  The original hardwood floors were well worn from the foot traffic and moaned and creaked under the weight of the customers.  The rectangular counter that held the large, antique cash register was positioned in the center of the store. Granddaddy always kept a big container of bubble gum on top of the counter.  I loved to sit and play with the register and chew piece after piece of bubble gum.

My beloved grandfather passed away in the fall of 1990.  My family gathered over the next few days to lay him to rest.  The day before the funeral, a visitation was held at the funeral home.  It was pleasantly cool and the side door to the funeral home was open to allow the crisp breeze through the screen door.  A few of us had gathered in the side room for coffee when we noticed an elderly black gentleman pacing back and forth outside the screen door.  "Can we help you?" we asked and he stuck his head in.  "I've come to pay my respects to Mr. Taylor," he sheepishly explained.  We invited him to please come in.  The man went on to explain how he knew my grandfather.  Back in the '50's, he had five small children and was out of work and out of money.  Winter was coming and none of his children had shoes.  Desperate, he took the kids to my grandfather's store and explaining his situation, asked if he could have credit to buy shoes for his children.  He promised to pay my grandfather back. Without hesitation my grandfather fit every child with a new pair of shoes and asked nothing in return from this gentleman.  "I never forgot his kindness," he whispered to us.

Through tears, we thanked him for coming and sharing some insight into our gentle grandfather.  I imagine my grandfather looking past the social divide and seeing a proud man trying to provide as best he can for his family. This man who, through no fault of his own, could find no work.  I imagine my grandfather looking at those five children and thinking (no pun intended) what if the shoe were on the other foot?  I imagine my grandfather contemplating the similarities in this man and himself.  And I imagine, my grandfather, one of the finest Christian men I ever knew, thinking of the Bible verse, "The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'"

My grandfather never told anyone that story, not even my grandmother.  Had that man not taken the time to pay his respects to my grandfather, no one would have ever been the wiser.  There were no accolades for his good deed.  No social media proclaiming, "Look what I did!  Look at me!  Aren't I special?" Just a quiet, unassuming man walking a mile in someone else's shoes, peering across the counter and not seeing race, but humanity.

Me and Mrs. Jones (and a lemon pie)

“Egg whites are good for a lot of things – lemon meringue pie, angel food cake, and clogging up radiators.” ~MacGyver

My soundtrack:  Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul
https://www.youtube.com/meandmrsjones

Family ties run deep in the Delta like the roots of the mighty bald cypress that anchor the majestic trees to the soil.  The generations before us were lifers - born, raised, reared their own then died in the Delta. Leaving was never fathomable.  Men especially stayed to carry on the family farm or business. The lifers became intertwined like kudzu to the point where it's hard to distinguish between friends and relatives.  More often than not they are one and the same.

I'm always fascinated by the lengths at which people in the Delta go to establish familial links to one another.  It reminds me of those long, tedious Bible verses - the begats - where they drone on and on about geneology.  It's boring to read but of immense importance as it substantiates historical accuracy and ties Jesus back to David.  I've sat for many an hour as my parents and their friends regale us over cocktails with stories of growing up here.  These conversations invariably turn to painstakingly weaving together how so-and-so is related to so-and-so.  It's like the Delta's own version of six degrees of separation that inevitably ends with us all somehow being cousins.  

During my latest trip to the Delta, I got wind of plans to sell off the contents of the Caile Methodist Church and either move or demolish the building.  The church was established in 1892 and the building has been a fixture on the side of Highway 49 since I can remember, keeping a faithful watch over the cemetery across the road.  The church has a special place in many people's hearts in the area but attrition, as it has in other small communities, has taken its toll.

My sister Anne and I along with Mama meet at the church one afternoon with Norman Aycock who is overseeing the sale of the church contents.   We look around and inquire about purchasing one of the pews.  Mr. Aycock explains that he's only offering to sell pews to actual members of the church or people related to members.  Anne and Mama immediately chime in on how they believe we're related to W.O. Jones, a longtime member of the Caile church.  Anne rolls off a lineage that would make any Delta native proud.  "Our grandmother's sister blah, blah, blah, blah, second cousin twice removed." (She loses me at "our grandmother.")  I'm  impressed by the detail to which my sister links us to the Jones family.  Those cocktail lineage stories are coming in handy and she is apparently a better listener than I. Satisfied, Mr. Aycock decides we've met the criteria for a pew and a deal is struck for the purchase.

We return to my parents' house triumphant,  When we proudly tell Daddy about our pew, he quickly sets us straight.  We're wrong on the lineage to W.O. Jones.  Oops.  We feel like swindlers.
  

In true southern fashion, while mulling over our dilemma, we decide to worry about the pew another day and instead set out to make a lemon pie with meringue from scratch.  Why, you ask?  Because it's spring and why not?  My sister settles on a recipe in the Inverness Cook Book.  She commences to cooking while I look on.  Everything is going great until we realize we only have store bought pie crusts.  A crime in any true baker's book but we press on. The time comes for the most important part, the meringue, so we call in the big guns - Daddy.  Everybody in the Delta knows what a fabulous cook and baker Daddy is and knows he never uses a recipe.  As he starts beating the the egg whites for the meringue, I start asking questions to which I already know how he's going to respond.  "How much cream of tartar do you use?"  Response:  "I don't know."  "How much sugar do you add in?"  Response:  "Enough." Whatever he does, it's just right because the meringue is perfection.

As we admire our work, I glance at the recipe.  It's by none other than Mrs. W.O. Jones. Coincidence? I think not.

The next day we return to Caile to retrieve the pew.  We sheepishly confess to Mr. Aycock that we may not be as closely related to W.O. Jones as we initially thought.  Not to worry.  He smiles as he presents a brass plaque that previously adorned one of the pews which reads, "In Loving Memory, Martha Francis Garrard 1847 - 1933."  With the last name Garrard, we know we have to be related to Martha, even though none of us are really sure who Martha is. I feel better heading back to Texas with pew in tow knowing the only crime committed while I was in Mississippi was using a store bought pie crust.  

Love Actually

'Tis the season for all things roses, chocolates and hearts.  Especially hearts.  I'm partial to hearts these days.  They stream from windows and adorn store aisles in an explosion of crimson.

Why is the heart so synonymous with our emotions?  Isn't its main job just to pump blood throughout our body?  Thump, thump, thump. The repetitive, rhythmic pulse.  Seventy beats a minute.  What is it about this essential, life-giving organ that, after wrapping us in red, clouds our judgment and separates us from all logical reasoning?

 I vividly recall from a few years ago the national sensation of the female astronaut who drove non-stop from Texas to Florida wearing a diaper so she didn't have to stop to go to the bathroom.  Her intent was to confront another woman over a man with whom they were both having an affair. The press had a field day over the story calling her crazy and obsessed.   In many ways, I think the press got it wrong about her.  But what makes a (up to that point) seemingly sensible, educated person behave in this most irrational way?

What compels a wife to put all her needs aside to the detriment of her own well-being to take care of her spouse? Why would someone risk rejection by friends and family to admit he or she is gay? What causes a young woman to put her life on hold so that the one most dear to her can pursue his dreams?  Why would a mother fight tooth and nail to save a child who is dangling on the precipice of disaster? What makes a 6 foot tall man break down in tears as his son departs to defend our country?  How do we account for all these agonizing decisions and the multitude of emotions we go through on a daily basis? 

Last week I was gainfully employed living my run-of-the-mill life in Texas. Within a span of twenty-four hours, I was 400 miles from home in a different state, unemployed and with an uncertain future. Why? Why, you might ask?  Well, it's love actually.  And the beat goes on. . . . 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

E. E. Cummings